


We shared blue until it was gone (5+1)

by rabiddog



Series: DSMP [10]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Unhappy Ending, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:09:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29231316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabiddog/pseuds/rabiddog
Summary: Tommy watches as his marks dissolve into inky splodges of broken promises, his skin hissing and his eyes burning.- The five times that Tommy first truly met his soulmates, and the one time that he lost them all.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: DSMP [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079465
Comments: 28
Kudos: 421





	1. Tubbo

Contrary to popular belief, soulmates aren't always created to be romantic. 

Partners for life aren't always there to be your lover, and Soulmarks aren't always developed from the festering feelings of adoration and puppy-love, of shy smiles and red cheeks as you stare into the glistening eyes of your beloved. 

Of course, there have been hundreds of thousands – even millions – of cases where their linked Soulmarks have brought two people together, and they have consequently fallen in love for the rest of time. They'd been inseparable, sharing gentle kisses and the deepest of intimacy for each other. But there have also been cases - multiple cases, of only platonic love having developed. 

Tommyinnit was a leading factor in those statistics. 

Tommy's life had been hard growing up, full of thievery and abandonment, full of parent issues, and lack of food. He'd had a rough start, having been left behind by those who had initially sworn to look after him till the day he died - he'd been curled up on the side of the street with only raggedy clothes and a blunt sword to his name. 

(A sword that he'd kept with him as memoriam every step of the way, no matter how worn out the blade got or how useless it gradually became as the years went by.) 

That, of course, however, meant he needed to keep around other weapons, too. Develop ways to protect himself. Wandering around the world as a vulnerable preteen had opened his eyes to the true dangers, after all. (A cobalt encrusted blade acting as his primary protector in the end.) 

Strained wood had eventually evolved into stone, stone into iron - the white ore eventually being swapped out for shimmering diamond that had children aweing and adults glaring. But alas, Tommy brushed away the stares and focused on the journey ahead of him. Both wooden and diamond strapped against his thin sides as he marched onwards. 

The sentiment was what was really keeping him so attached to his first weapon. He thrived on them, feelings, and memories, that is, especially as he got older. 

Growing from a nervous, rambling eight-year-old into a strong-willed, boisterous sixteen-year-old with a venomous tongue and nimble fingers had really taken a toll on both his physical health and his mental. He'd gone from being meek and shy enough to receive pity-coins, or a scrap of food, to somebody who was viewed as 'far too big for his boots' and undeserving of anything he owned. 

Tommy didn't like to stick around town for too long when those sorts of comments began to pop up again. 

He drifted, really, moving wherever his shabby pair of taped-together hiking boots would get him. It didn't matter the place, the weather, or even the people (unless he was dealing with a group of pillagers); he just liked exploring. 

Seeing the world around him as it was, all fresh and new, was something that Tommy was able to do without any ties holding him down. He had no soulmates, no parents, not even a hint of a family – so why should he stay in one place? 

Sure, he could have clung onto hope, clung onto some desperate wish that his parents would come back and pull him in with open arms and countless apologies for what they'd done, but he knew that was just wishful thinking. Tommy wasn't a child anymore, so he wouldn't play into his youthful desires and unreachable goals. 

He'd focus on the present, and at that point, the present was making it through the damn oak forest at night without being ambushed by any fucking- 

"Hey!" 

Tommy practically skyrocketed into the air, his body rigid and baby-blue eyes impossibly wide with the hushed voice that had suddenly whispered into his waiting ears. Everything froze for a split second, whispering winds and wailing whines shut off into an unreachable silence. 

The blonde teen let out a breath, a thin hand instinctively gripping onto the handle of his sword – ready to pull it free at any moment. 

Sure, the very distinctive, human-like, 'hey,' obviously hadn't come from a wandering zombie or a rattling skeleton, but Tommy also had no idea who precisely the speech had been let out by. For all he knew, it could be an assassin or a bounty hunter out for his blood. 

(Seriously, he'd only stolen one fucking loaf of bread from the last town over. Was it really that big of a deal to everyone? Jesus!) 

"Who are you?" Sword now drawn, brave face on, sharp teeth sunk into a lower lip. Tommy had to appear confident; he had to appear on top of the world and full of fearlessness, or else he'd simply be viewed as a quivering sheep lost alone amongst a pack of hungry wolves. 

And truthfully? He couldn't have that. 

There was a beat of silence. And then - a boy, supposedly around Tommy's age with blooming cheeks and a blinding smile bounded forwards, all jolting movements and swinging arms. "Hi! I'm Tubbo-" A hand stuck out towards the taller blonde. 

Tommy's lips downturned. "Tubbo, huh?" He sneered lightly, suspicions raising. 

'Tubbo,' ever unaware of any danger he might land himself within, gave a shaky nod, his blonde wisps of hair illuminated by the sturdy lantern he was carrying in his left hand. "Yup! Who are you? What's your name? What're you doing wandering around the forest so late? There are monsters out here, you know-" 

"I'm well aware of that, thanks dickhead." Tommy interrupted with a scoff, instinctively sliding his sword back against his waist so he could link his arms over his rickety chest. "I could ask the same question to you!" 

"To me?" Tubbo blinked somewhat before it hit him, "Oh! You mean, why am I out here too?" 

Another scratchier scoff. "Obviously." 

Ah, that response from Tommy had apparently opened the floodgates to this 'Tubbo's' rambling. The taller blonde could only internally groan as he forced himself to half-listen through the jumbled wording and excited laughs. 

"Well, you see! I'm super into, like, bees, right? They're just so cool and fuzzy, and the colours look so nice together. I've loved bees ever since I was a kid, and I've always wanted to have one to call my own. Like- like in an enclosure or something. But it's always been hard to catch one of them while they're out of their hive. So! So- I figured if I went outside while all of the bees were sleeping, then I'd be able to pluck one out of their nest and... have it!" 

Tommy's jaw dropped considerably. Was this guy serious? Surely not. Surely not... right? "You- you can't be serious." He started, mouth agape and eyes even wider than earlier, "You can't be serious. You're not fucking serious, are you?" 

"Huh? Why wouldn't I be serious?" 

Tommy stared. Tubbo stared back. 

A few moments passed, disbelief clouding the taller boy's face before he erupted into harsh peals of laughter, his chest aching, and he practically doubled over from the force of his almost manic chortling. 

"Oh god, oh god, man-" Tommy giggled, wiping a shaking hand over his eyes to disrupt the slight flow of happy-tears that had begun to bubble within the corners of his baby blues. "That's the funniest fucking thing I think I've heard in years. Jesus Christ, dude. You're so stupid." 

Tubbo crossed his arms over his chest, a petulant expression on his face. "That's not very nice. I'm not stupid." 

"Never said I was trying to be nice," Tommy responded with a grin, "But... you do realise if you try and grab a fuckin' bee, you'll just get stung, right? They're nasty mother fuckers when they want to be." 

(Tommy had an unfortunate experience with bee stings, and he never wanted to go near those furry fucks again.) 

"What!? They are not!" 

"They are too!" 

"Are not!" 

"Are too!" 

"Are-" 

Groaning. Deep and guttural groaning flooded the unlit, shrouded forest, echoing between the trees and brushing against rustling leaves. Tommy swallowed, gaze snapping around in a furious motion as the groans only seemed to grow louder. 

Something was dragging against the ground, something heavy and rotting, a thick stench of wrong, wrong, wrong beginning to flood the boys' senses and minds. It was apparent as to what it was – both of the teens were incredibly aware, even if they didn't particularly want to face the dangerous facts. 

Tommy swallowed roughly, his throat feeling full of sandpaper, and his tongue appeared heavy in his mouth. 

"Zombies," He whispered to Tubbo. 

"Zombies," Tubbo whispered back. 

A split moment of quiet before absolute chaos erupted amongst the occupied forest. Howling, wailing, groaning cries of decaying, grating symphonies making their presence known – huge, snarling bodies of putrescent flesh and peeling skin growing ever closer as they stormed through swaying bushes and slinking undergrowth. 

Tommy had dealt with zombies before, both hoards and loners. Neither were fun options to face, and he knew that even attempting to go up against one at night had a high chance of ending up with an unpleasant death. 

His gaze shifted to Tubbo. Bleary-eyed, bee loving Tubbo, innocent-faced, cardigan-covered Tubbo. Somebody Tommy had quite literally just met, somebody who was clearly deficient in more than just one aspect but still somebody that the taller blonde felt compelled to stick with. 

He stuck out a calloused hand. 

Tubbo didn't think twice before gripping onto it, and then the two were off. 

Tommy's feet were practically kissing the ground as he ran, shoving deep into misshapen mud and uneven, mossy lumps as he thundered through the dark forest. His breaths were coming out in short intervals, ghosting over his trembling, cobalt lips and sending condensed clouds into the cool air. 

He knew that zombies were slow – or at least slower than most hostile mobs were – but that didn't make them any less vicious. Even the slightest misstep or trip-up could lead to a gruesome and gnarly death, one that even the bravest of soldiers and warriors wouldn't want to go through. 

(Hell, he's not even sure the famed _Techonblade_ would want to die like that.) 

Sure, Tommy still had his three lives left, but losing one to a fucking _zombie_? No. He wanted to go out like a fearless fighter. He wanted to go out with a damn bang. 

"This way!" 

Tommy chanced a glance back towards Tubbo as he shouted, their linked hands clenching against one another despite the complete unfamiliarity blooming between the two. Tubbo looked conflicted, brows pinched together and sweat rolling down his pale face. 

"We can't!" The shorter blonde feverishly refused, pointing a shaking hand into the opposite direction, "We need to go that way!" 

"Eh!? Are you insane!? That's just further into the forest! The road is this way! Trust me; it's how I got in-" Tommy tried desperately. Was this guy fucking crazy? Changing the way that they were going this late into their retreat could be disastrous. Who knows what the outcome would be like? 

But still, Tubbo point blank refused. "No! I know this place, okay? I know where we need to go! I promise it'll be safe!" He swallowed, "Just trust me!" 

Tommy blanched. They'd hit a fork in the road, and one they couldn't waste time arguing over. 

Groans were approaching fast, growing louder and louder as they pounded within Tommy's aching mind. Danger, danger, danger. He could practically already see the decaying corpses as they viciously tore away at his and Tubbo's bodies if they took even a second longer to decide. 

A part of him didn't want to trust the boy he'd just met. Tommy wanted to kick and scream and absolutely, vehemently refuse the change of pace. But another tiny part of him – a tiny part of his beating, whispering heart was screaming to just _trust._

_" Trust him, trust him, trust him."_

_"It's okay; he's good."_

_"You can believe him. Do it."_

Fuck it. 

"Fine, dickhead! But if I end up dying, I'm so blaming you!" 

"Deal!" Tubbo grinned easily in response, giving Tommy's dry hand a tight squeeze before hauling the two of them off deeper into the woods with even faster steps. 

For just a split moment, Tommy wondered about the intense burning flaring on his wrist, but quickly brushed it away. He had more important things to ponder about after all (like the running away from a pack of raging zombies, maybe.) 

.

* * *

. 

Later, as the two teens collapsed into a vaguely lit barn, huddling underneath a crumbling slab of oak with their legs intertwined and sides pressed against one another, Tommy would glance to that very same wrist from before. 

His chest was still heaving, skin still sweating profusely from their earlier 'running for their lives' session, as he spoke up. 

"I got a fucking bee," Tommy sighed, scrubbing at the fresh Soulmark that had bloomed over his pale skin. Of course, it was a fucking bee of all things. Tommy probably shouldn't have even assumed it would be anything else – not with how passionate Tubbo appeared to be about those damn creatures if he was willing to risk getting stung for them. 

(Truthfully, Tommy hadn't even expected the burn on his wrist to be a Soulmark at first. He'd initially assumed it to be a scrape or a wound he'd acquired as he ran through whipping trees and coiling branches, but apparently not. Just his damn luck.) 

He took a glance towards the other teen in question. "What about you?" 

"Two music discs," Tubbo hummed, rubbing at the dark circles with an interested gaze. "What do they mean?" 

Tommy shrugged. "Fuck if I know. Guess we'll find out someday, right?" 

"Right." 

Silence lapsed for a moment or two, drifting over the two dewy teens and massaging into their tense shoulders. A surprise to none – Tommy was the one to break the silence once more. 

"We're friends for life now. Okay? None of that stupid, dancing around each other shit. We're best friends, and that's that." 

Tubbo snickered, all good-natured and friendly despite the situation. "Yeah, obviously, dude. I wouldn't expect any less." 

"Cool." 

"Cool." 

"Yeah. Yeah." A breath, "I'm Tommy, by the way." 

Tubbo just continued to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CC: [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/rabiddogs)  
> Twitter: [Wilbburs](https://twitter.com/wilbburs)


	2. Phil

Life with Tubbo was good, great even. It's a fresh start, like the first breath of crisp air on a dewy Spring morning promising the sweetest of days to come, and Tommy revels in it more than anything he's ever had. Tubbo is new and crisp, with his blinding smiles and infectious laughter, with his endless amounts of knowledge and unfortunate ability to stumble over every other word. 

He's somebody that Tommy wants to keep close to his chest forever and ever; somebody that Tommy refuses to let slip through his grasp; somebody that Tommy would sacrifice just about anything for. 

Even as they run through village alleyways together, hand in hand as angry townsfolk rant and rave about their stolen bread or missing emeralds, Tommy wouldn't trade it for the world. He'd get into countless bouts of trouble and mischief if it meant being able to spend each night cuddled up against his closest friend. 

(Sure, Tommy hadn't always been too big on touching and contact. But for Tubbo's clingy nature? He could perhaps make an exception.) 

Everything is great. 

At least for a while. 

Something that Tommy's blue-eyed, blonde of a soulmate had neglected to inform him of was the fact that Tubbo's immune system wasn't up to any standard whatsoever. Not even the lowest standard, it seemed. 

To see the shorter boy without a sniffling, red-tipped nose, or a slight sheen of sweat on his pale skin would really be a miracle (and definitely a sight to remember.) When Tubbo was not ailed by some sort of random sickness he'd managed to pick up, he still wasn't feeling entirely on top of the world, at least not like Tommy had been. 

He was mellow, to say the least. All softly whispered words and shy smiles despite the pure mayhem he could cause, hidden within his humming brain. He was reserved and so unlike the boy that Tommy had met wandering around the dark forest that night. 

At first, Tommy had wondered if he was the cause – if he was the reason Tubbo seemed to fall ill so often. Tommy _was_ the one dragging his soulmate from place to place, after all, the pair coming into contact with all sorts of unknown creatures and people on their travels. 

But the taller blonde had quickly dismissed that worry. He wasn't the reason, at least not the whole reason. Sure, he might be a leading factor, but it was Tubbo's shitty immune system that was really at fault. 

It was Tubbo's shitty immune system that had left the boy unable even to move, unable to breathe without sobbing, unable to speak a single word to Tommy past his cracked, bleeding lips. 

Tubbo was sick. Sicker than he'd ever been before, and Tommy would rather die himself than sit back and let his best friend grow even weaker and weaker as the days passed on. 

So, he'd decided to do something about it. 

"I'll be back soon, okay?" Tommy murmured, voice hushed and unnaturally quiet – he didn't want to worsen his friend's migraine any more than it already was. "It'll just be a short trip into town, see if any doors have been left unlocked, and see what I can nick. It'll be easy peasy, lemon squeezy. In and out, I promise." 

Tubbo gave a weak groan, tear-filled eyes brimming with protest and objection. His dry lips parted slightly as if he wanted to deny outright what Tommy was telling him if, but they soon closed back up around a slight murmur. 

Tommy offered a grin, gently stroking his fingers through matted, greasy blonde strands. "Just stay here and stay quiet, okay? I won't be more than an hour." 

(It wasn't like Tubbo would be physically able to go anywhere in his state, but still.) 

With that, the younger teen pushed himself up into a standing position, having already slid on thin layers of leather armour earlier, and Tommy had his trusty diamond sword strapped to his side. He was opting to leave his wooden one in their makeshift home, not wanting to accidentally lose it in the village that he was determined to raid. (Obviously, because it could be used as evidence against him, not because Tommy actually cared or anything.) 

One last glance over himself. 

Taped-up climbing shoes? Check. Weapon? Check. Arguably shitty armour? Check. Some sort of plot device that should keep him from dying this early on? …Probably check. 

Tommy let out a brief sigh, his gaze slowly shifting down to meet Tubbo's awaiting one. Their eyes locked, an equal share of regret and fear hastily passing between the two teens, but it was gone as quickly as it had seemingly appeared. 

"If I don't come back... just know that you can have my shit or whatever. And don't die while I'm gone either, okay? If I do end up making it out alive, and I find out you died?" Tommy scoffed, kicking a little at the ground. There would be hell to pay. "Just stay alive, okay?" 

Even if Tubbo couldn't respond at that moment in time, he knew precisely what Tommy was trying to say, and he knew that his soulmate could understand that Tubbo shared the same sentiments. 

See, Tommy's love language wasn't just outright saying, 'I love you.' It wasn't shown through gifts or sweet whispers; it wasn't shown through blushed cheeks and tiny smiles, no. His love language was quite literally every single foul word that left his pink lips. Each mean jest, each harsh insult – it was just Tommy's way of saying, 'hey, you mean everything to me. I need you. I love you. Please don't leave me.' 

Tubbo understood it, and he felt the same exact way. 

"Right, well. Bye." 

Tommy swallowed back any other words that threatened to spill, and he turned away. Tubbo would be fine. His soulmate would be fine, and the two boys would be back on the road in no time. Everything would be fine. 

.

* * *

. 

Everything was arguably _not_ so fine. 

Tommy had ventured through the village for as long as he allowed himself to (knowing how dire the situation with Tubbo was.) He'd tugged at each and every door handle he stumbled across, trying – unfortunately – locked chests and almost resorting to smashing through a window just to find _something._

(If it weren't for Tubbo and his surprisingly high morals when it came to griefing, then Tommy would have done just that.) 

But he'd ended up at a standstill. 

Everything had been hidden away out of sight, pressed into ender chests, or tucked up in secret compartments underneath wooden floorboards – completely concealed out of sight from Tommy's searching eyes. 

He'd ended up with a grand total of nothing. Not a single health potion, not a single golden apple; not even a single damn piece of steak had been left out. It was as if news had been spreading about a pair of teen thieves, and now suddenly, everyone had decided it was absolutely the right decision to lock up their belongings. 

Sure, Tommy really had been fixated on stealing lately, but was that truly such a big deal? 

Now he was left with nothing. Not a sole hint of loot as he made the aching walk back up to the crumbling cave home that he shared with Tubbo. 

How was he supposed to explain to his best friend that... that he had nothing? That Tommy had left him alone for so long only to return empty-handed. Not a single whiff of potions or food within his barren inventory. How was Tommy supposed to face his soulmate now? - 

A glance to the side. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy had finally hit gold. An old farmhouse, with towering walls, made up of dented wood and fragmented stone, with a slightly unhinged door barely being held together, and an inviting smell of _loot_ drifting its way over to Tommy's greedy hands. 

Jackpot. 

All he needed to do was creep up towards the home, sneak in through the front door, and steal himself some potions and food. That was it; it wouldn't be a huge ordeal at all. Plus, surely the only person to live there would be some old, rather loopy farmer - nothing to worry about. 

Proud of himself for his lucky findings, Tommy began to stumble across the rocky, overgrown pathway leading up to the large home of pinned up wool and soaring fences. His boots clunked against upturned stones, and his hands scrambled for purchase against a sturdy wall. 

There was a slight groan for a moment, a sharp breath from Tommy, and then quiet enveloped the dark night once more (with the occasional crackle from a hostile, and the taunting calling of an overhead phantom.) 

Relief bubbled within Tommy's rickety chest as he began to gently - and quietly – pry away at the old, rusted hinges, his nimble fingers full of callouses and small scars making quick work of the obstacle in front of him. Things like this, opening hinges and ancient doors, was far easier than trying to break straight into iron padded locks. 

"Come on," The blonde teen hissed under his breath, desperate for any type of reaction from the door. He held his breath until... 

Finally, the oak swung open with an echoing creak, just a hair's breadth away from forcefully hitting into a poorly placed chest beside it. Tommy winced a little at the unintentional volume but quite rapidly forced it out. It didn't matter. If he could just convince himself that nobody was home (or awake), then he'd be fine. 

Tommy just had to have faith that everything would be fine. 

So, his first destination? The kitchen. 

As Tommy tiptoed his way through the bottom floor of the home, peering into various open doorways and listening out for even the hint of sound, he made sure to note down a mental map of the layout. He needed a quick way to escape if anyone showed up after all, right? 

The living room was to his left, full of old furniture and some family pictures that Tommy could just barely make out in the dark (three people, one taller than the rest, pink hair, some sort of yellow jumper.) There were a dining table and a comfortable looking rocking chair. 

To his right? The kitchen, with its enticing cupboards and furnaces, filled to the brim with what Tommy was hoping was some sort of food (and if he was lucky, the stray health potion.) A flight of stairs was around that area too, but the blonde was doing his absolute best to pretend like that wasn't the case. 

If he didn't look at them, they weren't there. Right? 

Either way, it didn't matter. All Tommy needed was the kitchen, and so that's exactly where he'd go. 

Slinking his way over wooden floorboards and onto cold, stone tiles had the boy _almost_ hissing out at the stark temperature change seeping into his holey boots. His toes wiggled a little, somewhat resembling the way his fingers were as he reached upwards for the first cupboard. 

He was tall, considerably so for his age (and thankfully a lot taller than Tubbo), but these cupboards... had they been placed in for giants? Did the people that lived here stand at a solid 6'8 on a good day? 

Tommy had to completely stretch himself upwards, leaning a spare hand onto the countertop to keep himself steady. His teeth were gritted - out of both annoyance and determination - his hands shaking considerably, and his toes were just about holding his body weight upwards. 

Just a little further... just a little taller, and he'll be able to - 

"What are you doing?" 

A groggy voice pierced into Tommy's eardrums, sending the boy stumbling backward and into a sturdy chest. Gentle arms wrapped around his sides to steady him, but Tommy just felt full of shock. Complete and utter shock. _Who the fuck had caught him?_

"Get the fuck off of me!" He shrieked, all raised hackles and snarling tongue as he tried to wriggle free from the person's tightening grasp. Tommy's legs were kicking out, nails desperately trying to find purchase on an open piece of exposed skin. "Get off!" 

He needed to get away, needed to make a break for the door and never look back- 

"Oh jeez, calm down, mate, I'm not gonna hurt you or anything. I was just wonderin' what you were doing, rummaging about and all that," the voice sighed, sounding far less tired than before and somehow even more so as he hoisted Tommy up into a standing position, "And then you go and nearly face plant the bloody floor. Eating stone, a normal habit for you?" 

Tommy wanted to snicker, he wanted to laugh out at the attempt of a joke coming from this stranger, but he couldn't. 

"Get off." Tommy hissed finally. 

A hum. "Alright. But you gotta promise not to go all ape shit again, okay? And you gotta tell me what you're doing breaking into my house at like... four am in the morning." 

"Sure." 

"Swear on it, mate, or I'm not letting go." 

Tommy swallowed roughly. God, he should just disobey. He should shout and scream a little more and just point-blank refuse. But he was still on a time limit; he still needed to get back to _Tubbo_. 

"Fine! Fine, I swear on it, or whatever. Jesus fuck, can you just let go already? I have places to be." 

The arms retracted from around Tommy's middle as quickly as they'd come, and the blonde teen took the chance to properly right himself – dusting off his shirt and making sure his backpack straps hadn't loosened in his mini struggle. 

A slight breath, and then Tommy found himself turning around. 

The sight that he was met with wasn't... completely what he had expected, to say the least. But he certainly wasn't weirded out or _too_ surprised. (Though Tommy really had been thinking that an older man with wrinkly, baggy skin lived here.) 

The man that had actually caught Tommy was considerably taller than him, standing up with a straight posture and strong, scarred arms crossed over a clothed chest. Blonde wisps of hair curled around his defined facial structure, the majority of it having been pulled back into a somewhat messy bun. 

Tommy swallowed a little as he looked over the stranger, doing his best to ignore the two, dark wings planted right behind this... farmer? 

Though, of course, it was somewhat hard just to flat out ignore them. 

"Are you the angel of death?" The teen blurted, unable to stop himself. 

There was a quiet pause for a moment, piercing eyes staring into Tommy's blue ones before laughter erupted from the older blonde. He chortled and chuckled, going as far as to clutch at his stomach for a brief second or two. 

"Me?" He spluttered, all crinkly-eyed and beaming despite the situation, "God no, mate. I'm just... me. The name's Phil. Nice to meet you, kiddo." A hand stuck out. 

Tommy weighed his options, glancing between the outstretched hand and back up to' Phil's' face, before accepting it with another, even heavier sigh. 

"I'm Tommy. Nice to, uh, meet you, I guess. Sorry about breaking into your house..." 

Phil just beamed even wider (if that was possible)." Don't worry about it, Tommy. You're not the first, and you probably won't be the last. Apart from that, though, do you wanna tell me _why_ exactly you broke in? I'm not mad, so don't fret or anything, just curious. What's a kid like you doing stealing from people? Shouldn't you be with your parents somewhere?" 

Tommy's teeth sunk into his lower lip. 

He should just lie. He should fabricate some sort of fairytale about how he was just a stupid teenager who got a kick out of stealing from others. He should talk about how great his family is and that they're probably _so_ worried about him right now- 

"My soulmate is dying, and I don't know what to do. Please help me." 

God fucking dammit, that is not what Tommy had wanted to blurt. The complete opposite, actually. 

Phil's brows raised, his lips down turning, and his posture slackened a little. It was as if he hadn't expected that sort of response, and honestly, Tommy didn't blame him for being a little unsure. "Shit, mate. That's not- that's not good. Where is your soulmate? Are they here too or-" 

"I left him in this... this cave we found. It's- it's safe, and there's torches n' shit. But... but he's not doing well! He's dying and sick, and I don't- I swear I only wanted to take a bit of food, maybe a pot if I could find one- I just can't lose him, I'm sorry-" 

A heavy hand clamped down onto Tommy's shaking shoulder, fingers digging in slightly and pressing downwards. It was as if the older man was trying to ground Tommy into a more stable mindset, and honestly? It was working. 

"Take me to him." 

Tommy blinked, doing his best to control his uneven breathing and hiccupping gasps. "What?" 

"Take me to him," Phil repeated, "I'll help you out. Just lemme grab my slippers and some health pots, and then I'll help your friend. Unless-? " 

The teen gasped, moving to grip the older man's sleeve for a moment, "No! No- that's good. That's fine," He grumbled, "Thank you, big man." 

Phil smiled, ruffled Tommy's hair, and then retreated further into his house. 

.

* * *

. 

"He's gonna be okay, mate. Probably a little tired for the next few days, but overall, he'll be okay. I think the health pots really helped him, honestly." 

Phil offered a reassuring smile as he carefully emerged from the hollow area. The area that homed a sickly Tubbo and a makeshift sort of bed made up of whatever blankets and pillows that Tommy had been able to pull together when they'd first arrived in the cave. Dark wings were furled behind him, and the teen had to physically fight the urge to ask to see them again. 

"That's good," Tommy nodded, the heavy tension peeling from his shoulders, and he relaxed where he stood. Knowing that his soulmate would be okay... that Tubbo wouldn't be dying in the next few hours... Tommy almost wanted to sob. 

"That's really good," Tommy repeated quietly, glancing upwards to the adult, "Thank you. So much." 

Phil just shrugged, offering a sheepish expression. "Ah, don't worry about it, mate. Just doing my job as a good Samaritan or whatever. I'm just glad he's okay-" 

Tommy couldn't help but launch himself towards the elder, feeling himself melt into a solid chest as strong arms wrapped around his shaking body. 

Now, Tommy wasn't really one to admit when people had done good for him. He preferred to brush it off and act as if everything was fine and nothing had changed for him, but Phil... he'd walked all the way from his home, at fuck-knows that time in the morning, just to help out two strangers? The man was incredible, to put it lightly, and astonishingly admirable. 

"You're- you're fucking great, big man." 

Phil snickered lightly, bringing a hand up to gently card through Tommy's blonde strands. "You think so?" 

"Yeah. I know so." 

\- 

After a few weeks, after Tubbo had properly recovered and the three had managed to stumble through awkward conversations and agreements for the two youngsters to stay with Phil for a little bit. (Not permanently, Tommy had stated, but they all knew better.) The youngest and the eldest would somewhat address the Soulmarks linking them together. 

"Do you wanna talk about it, Toms?" 

Tommy swallowed lightly, glancing at his quivering hands, and he sighed. He knew that this sort of conversation was bound to come up at some point, but still. "Not yet, thank you." 

Did he want to address the angel of death, imprinted into his skin for life? The Soulmark that had gradually engraved itself onto him, instead of something instant like Tommy's mark for Tubbo? Not really. Should he? Probably, yes. 

"Maybe another time, big man." 

Phil just smiled, turning back to the dish he'd begun cooking for the three of them. "That's fine, mate. Take all the time you need." 

Phil already had two other Soulmate marks prior to Tommy's. He'd had experience and knew when not to press on something. "Just know that I'm here if you need me, okay? Whenever you're ready to talk about it, I'll be here to listen." 

A pause. 

"Thanks, dad." 

"No problem, kiddo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CC: [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/rabiddogs)  
> Twitter: [Wilbburs](https://twitter.com/wilbburs)


	3. Wilbur

"My sons are coming home soon, you know." 

Phil's voice was as nonchalant as ever as he glanced over towards the teen perched at their dining table, wanting to gauge Tommy's reaction to the news. He hadn't exactly intended to pile too much on top of the boy's shoulders (Tubbo's included), but he felt as if having his two other sons randomly show up one day would be even more of a shock. 

See, Phil hadn't really told Tubbo and Tommy _that_ much about Wilbur and Technoblade. There were photos hung up around the house of the two older teens, but the younger blonde's had never asked or inquired, so Phil hadn't seen a need to mention it. 

Perhaps now he sees that he probably should have. 

"What?" 

Tommy lifted his head from his crossed arms, brows pinched together, and his lips had downturned somewhat. "Your sons?" 

Sure, Tommy had seen the pictures around the house. He'd let his eyes carefully drag over old photo-frames, over two tall figures - one adorned with gold, intertwining chains, and bubblegum-pink hair, the other wrapped up in soft-looking jumpers, puffed beanies, and large, round glasses. But he hadn't really thought much of it. 

What if they'd died, after all? Wouldn't it be insensitive of him if Tommy brought it up to Phil out of nowhere? (Not that Tommy tended to be very observant or caring of other people's feelings, but still... He could make an exception for the Avian.) 

"Mhm," Phil nodded, waiting another moment or two to see if Tommy seemed any more irked than usual. Thankfully, he didn't, and the older man took that as his cue to return to the bread he'd been buttering. "They've been gone for a while, adventuring together and all of that stuff, right? Technoblade and-" 

Tommy's eyes widened at that. Wait a minute. 

_"Technoblade!?"_

Phil blinked. "Uhh, yeah?" 

“Like... _the_ Technoblade? The whole 'blood for the blood God' warrior guy? The piglin hybrid with the Axe of Peace and, and all of that fucking netherite shit? That one guy who managed to _somehow_ beat Dream in a duel? Technoblade as in the-" 

"Yes!" Phil laughed in gentle interruption, eyes crinkling at the sides, and his lips quirked upwards. Tommy's excited rambling was really warming even the coldest parts of his scarred body. "That's Technoblade, alright. Good kid, isn't he?" 

(A relatively good kid if you pointedly ignored the anarchistic ways and the mass murder, maybe.) 

Tommy swallowed roughly, eyes wide and back as straight as a rod as he stared up towards his pseudo-father. He could barely contain himself, a raging pit of conflicted emotions swirling within him, dancing across his soft, delicate insides and breaching out from his very pores. 

"I think I'm going to faint." 

A pause. Phil blanched. 

"Oh god, please don't, mate. I don't think I'd be able to catch you in time, and I really can't be mopping up all that blood when you decide to face plant the damn floor." 

A high-pitched, echoing laugh bubbled from Tommy's parted lips. "I just... I can't believe your son is _Technoblade_. He's like... my whole idol." 

"Oh. Really?" 

"Yeah," The teen admitted, "I've looked up to him since, like, forever. I can't even imagine a time where I didn't look up to him," Tommy breathed out, his voice an intertwining mix of wonderstruck seriousness and goofy breathlessness. "Does this mean _Technoblade_ is going to be my brother now?" 

Phil shrugged lightly, "Well, I guess, yeah." He slid a plate across towards Tommy, the ceramic filled to the brim with buttered pieces of warm toast. "I haven't really told him about you or Tubbo yet, though, I don't think." 

"Oh." There was the slight disappointment that Phil wasn't used to hearing. "Why not?" 

"There's too much to explain through a single letter," The elder admitted as he took a seat opposite from Tommy. "I figured it would be better to elucidate the whole situation in person. Plus, I know Wilbur would only freak out wherever he is if I told him I'd just adopted two more kids." 

Tommy's head snapped up again. "Wilbur? Is that your other son, then?" 

"Yup. Sure is, mate." 

"What's he like? Is he a famed warrior too? " 

Phil hummed lightly, fingers tapping over a wooden dining table as he thought of how to respond. Images of a tall brunette flashed across his mind - visions of curly hair and cotton beanies, visions of long legs and baggy jumpers. Phil could almost hear the soothing tune of a familiar guitar drifting through the open kitchen. 

An aching loneliness echoed within the older man's chest for a moment or two, bubbling across his skin and caressing at his calloused hands. 

Phil knew that it was a complete guarantee that Wilbur would be happy wherever he was, especially now that he was travelling with Technoblade, but that didn't mean the father didn't miss and worry for his second-oldest son. 

Wilbur wasn't a warrior like Technoblade, he wasn't as skilled with a sword, and he adamantly refused to wear any type of armour as protection, no matter the situation. He didn't really care much for his own safety and typically liked to see the good in everyone, despite how 'bad' or 'evil' they might initially appear. 

While it was a sweet sentiment and really showed off the tall twin's caring nature, it still made Phil's heart ache with unadulterated worry each time a mention of Wilbur's carelessness was brought up. 

(One day, Phil would be sure to get Wilbur in _at least_ a thin shred of leather.) 

"Well..." 

How was he supposed to sum up the raging, swirling pool of creativity and intelligence that made up one, Wilbur Soot, in just a few short paragraphs that could capture Tommy's (rather short) attention span? 

Phil sighed. 

"He's like Techno's opposite; I'd say, despite the two being twins and practically attached at the hip since their birth. Wilbur is witty - a sarcastic little shit, similar to you, and he really has a way with words. He's a real people person, loves playing the guitar, and goddamn does that kid have a good voice." Phil looked towards Tommy's captured expression, "I'm sure he'd sing to you some time. If you asked nicely." 

"Woah. You think?" 

A chuckle. "Yeah. Definitely." 

Tommy nodded, an excited grin already taking place on his face. "What else?" 

"Wilbur's a pretty tall guy, taller than you are, actually. Hell, he's even taller than Techno. He's got these real gangly legs and arms, and his favourite thing is to place things just high enough that nobody but him can reach." The older stretched slightly, "He's got a thing for dramatic monologues about himself, and you know what?" 

Tommy's brows raised somewhat. "What?" 

"He's got a soft spot for annoying, sixteen-year-old blondes." 

There were a few moments of pause between the pair, an overlapping silence that lasted long enough to have Phil snickering into his calloused hands until it finally hit Tommy what the Avian had actually said. 

"Hey!" He spluttered rather indignantly, hands moving to his hips, and he stuck his tongue out. "Dickhead! I'm not fuckin' annoying. If anything, _Tubbo_ is the annoying one! He's blonde and sixteen _too_ you know-" 

"I'm not annoying!" Tubbo's voice echoed from his room upstairs. 

Tommy scoffed, "Shut up, Tubbo!" 

"'Kay!" 

Phil rolled his eyes fondly, completely used to the bickering that erupted between the two teens on a regular, almost daily basis. The starting cause was typically due to Tommy and one of his snarky comments, but Tubbo wasn't afraid to carry it on either despite his initially 'innocent' appearance. 

The two really were utterly made for each other. (Both as soulmates and brothers.) 

"You should be nicer to him, y'know, Toms. He's gonna really get pissed at you one day." Phil reprimanded with a gentle smile, leaning back into his chair. 

Tommy, just as he had done before, scoffed. "Nah. Tubbo loves me too much to do that. Anyway – can you tell me more about, uh, Wilbur? I wanna hear about _Technoblade's_ twin! And doesn't this mean Wilbur will be our brother too, technically?" 

"Yes, technically, he will be," The Avian nodded, "But... I actually have a picture of Wilbur, if you'd prefer? A pretty recent one, too, not like those in the picture frames around the house." 

"Shit, really!?" 

Phil chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, here-" 

Nimble fingers gently pried away a somewhat worn photo from a dark money-pouch, the white edges frayed and slightly ripped, but the main picture seemed to be in pretty good shape – at least easily distinguishable. Phil held it out with a reassuring smile, watching as Tommy carefully gripped onto it and pulled it closer to inspect. 

_Wilbur was sat up against a cobble wall, delicate beams of sunlight casting a soft glow over his supple features and truly accentuating the splayed freckles he'd grown up with. Pink lips were stretched into a wide grin, eyes crinkled (similar to how Phil's did when he was beaming), and a yellow guitar sat perched in the brunette's lap._

He looked happy, Tommy noted immediately, brows furrowed somewhat as he traced a finger over the image of the older boy. 

A part of the blonde felt compelled to look closer, look deeper into the maroon of Wilbur's jumper, or take a second glance at how his ankles were crossed where they lay. It was as if he was being compelled to figure out every little thing about Phil's son, right down to the way his hair was styled, and Tommy had no idea why. 

He swallowed. 

"Phil, I-" 

A Pause. And then Tommy was _screaming_. 

A searing, hissing pain began to lick across Tommy's exposed skin, dancing across paling nerves and murmuring sweet taunts into the teen's open ears. The feeling was all-consuming and practically never-ending as it ascended up the length of Tommy's body, starting from the tips of his fingers right towards the center of his chest. 

It was almost as if a raging army of fire-worms had decided to make a nest within the teen's flesh, burning and scorching enough to distract Tommy away from even Phil's gentle touches as he rounded the table to the blonde's side. 

"Tommy, c'mon mate, just breathe, you're okay!" 

Panic laced Phil's words as he gently held onto the gasping teen. Tommy's eyes were wide and his hands shaking immensely, though he never once let go of the photo. 

"It hurts, dad, dad _it hurts_ -" 

Glacial rivulets ran rampage over crimson-flushed cheeks, floods of crystal-clear tears bubbling from sensitive ducts as the teen hiccupped and gasped around the intense pain. He didn't think he'd ever felt something so wrong, so terribly wrong and agonising. 

Why wasn't it stopping? Why was he feeling like this? Why, why, why- 

As quickly as the pain had started, the intense, hot flashes came to an abrupt halt, sending Tommy's body into a period of tense (and unsure) cooling. It was almost like a flip had been switched within his body, nerve endings and delicate brain waves pushing against whatever had begun to flare within him until it dissipated. 

A breath left the teen, his body aching and his gaze watery. Gentle stinging was massaging over the skin on the very centre of his chest, but a part from that, he seemed perfectly okay. 

(Sure, his mind was reeling, and he'd been left feeling more than just a little nauseous, but he wasn't exactly hurt, either.) 

"What was that, Toms?" Phil murmured, his voice easily cutting through the teen's wandering thoughts and his fingers lifted to wipe away at stray tears on the blonde's cheeks. Tommy glanced up, tongue heavy and mouth dry. 

"I, uh- I don't know," He admitted carefully, lips parting around multiple syllables as he tried to push his words out at least somewhat comprehensibly, "It just... I was looking at the uh, the fuckin' photo and then- then I was just _burning_ -" 

Phil's brows raised. "Burning? Like... a fever? Do you think you're coming down with something?" 

"No... no. No. That wasn't it; it was like- it was like when," Tommy's teeth sunk down into his lower lip. "Like when I first got my Soulmark for Tubbo. All burnin' and itchy, n' shit. Hurt like a bitch." 

The elder nodded. "So, you think this might be another Soulmark?" 

"I guess. But that wouldn't make sense, would it? Don't you need to be like, fuckin' touchin' the person for them to develop or something?" 

"Usually. But there's still a lot of stuff that isn't known about Soulmarks, so your guess on the whole ordeal is as good as mine at this point." Phil admitted, tongue clicking against his teeth as he let his gaze scan over Tommy. "Where does it itch?" 

Tommy's fingers pressed lightly against the middle of his chest, more towards his sternum than the _actual_ middle. "Here. It's like, like I'm being bit – or electrocuted or somethin'." 

"Huh," Phil hummed, "Do you mind lifting your shirt for me? Just enough so we can see." 

The blonde paused in contemplation before nodding. As much as he'd like to return to his toast and pretend as if nothing had happened, he probably shouldn't. Tommy gently gripped the edge of his frayed shirt, lifting it up enough to expose the top of his chest. 

Phil leaned forwards just slightly, brows pinched and lips downturned. 

"It's a flag. And a guitar, I think." 

"A flag?" 

"Yup. Three crosses, the uh, the main colours are blue, white and red. But there's also black and yellow. The guitar is," Phil swallowed, "It's like Wilbur's, in the picture." 

Tommy blinked. "Oh." 

"Yeah, mate, 'oh.'" 

"What now?" 

Phil leaned back again, allowing Tommy to lower his shirt, and the older man sighed." Honestly? I don't know. I'm guessing your newest Soulmate is Wilbur, even if you barely know him and he doesn't know you at all. I could always send him a letter to come home quicker, and you could talk over it, but lord knows how long that will take." 

"So... my best bet is to just... live with it? And wait till, this uh, this fuckin' Wilbur dickhead gets here?" 

A good-natured chuckle. "Yeah, Toms. That's all we can do for now. It shouldn't be long till they're home, anyways. Maybe two weeks or so? Give or take." 

Tommy's arms crossed over one another. 

"Fine," He sighed, lower lip jutting out, and his expression was somewhat displeased, "I guess I can wait that long." 

.

* * *

. 

It turns out, Tommy really didn't need to wait that long after all. 

Just a few days later, in the early mornings of a dewy Saturday, a harsh set of knocks (more like pounding) echoed throughout the old farmhouse. Phil had sighed, all aching bones and sore muscles as he headed downstairs to answer the door. (Both Tubbo and Tommy were considerably light sleepers, so they ended up trailing behind him too.) 

"I'm coming; I'm coming," Phil grumbled lightly, eyes drooping as he unlatched the shaking door and pulled it open. 

A part of him had been expecting some villager from the lower town with a unique problem, or perhaps another wandering trader looking to make a quick few emeralds. What Phil certainly _hadn't_ been expecting, however, was to see his second-oldest son, all frazzled expression and messy hair, all wide eyed and wrinkled clothing, half-way through another knock. 

(And Techno was there too, though he seemed to be more reserved and annoyed by the whole ordeal.) 

Wilbur's lips parted, "Dad! I-" 

The brunette's gaze drifted from Phil, down slightly, and then landed on one rather shocked looking Tommy. It was as if the Avian blinked, and then suddenly Wilbur had the teen wrapped up in an encompassing hug – looking as if he'd never let go. Ah. 

Technoblade sighed. "Just another normal day in the Watson household, I guess." 

\- 

_Later, Wilbur would come to explain that his own Soulmark – the same flag as Tommy's, just with a hint of lapis for whatever reason - had developed one evening, as he'd been strumming away at his guitar. Apparently, it had burned and ached with blazing heat, and Wilbur had shouted enough that Technoblade had been forced to restrain him before he woke up the whole inn._

_Just minutes after the mark had properly ingrained itself within scorching, hissing skin, an almost overpowering urge to get home had begun to fester within Wilbur's mind - overpowering enough that he'd cut his trip with Techno short. He'd had flashes of blonde hair, of blue eyes, and a grumpy expression._

_Wilbur had known the minute his eyes had laid down upon Tommy, hovering behind an exhausted Phil, that the teen was his Soulmate._

_It was an odd situation, and one that Technoblade liked to poke fun at occasionally, but for Tommy and Wilbur? It worked. (Eventually, at least, after they'd gotten past the arguments and fights.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CC: [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/rabiddogs)  
> Twitter: [Wilbburs](https://twitter.com/wilbburs)


	4. Technoblade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Slight mentions of blood, derealisation, abuse

Farming potatoes is a good pastime for Technoblade. It's soothing, relaxing, quiet – something that can distract him from the screaming, raging voices bubbling inside of his aching mind, distract him from the sorts of voices that are almost always screaming for blood. For revenge. For death. 

_"Blood for the Blood God!"_

Their chants are desperate and repetitive, swirling around in hissing, biting swarms and filling his ears enough that sometimes he can't even hear _his own_ thoughts. 

Occasionally, in a unique show of care, they'll quiet down. Mention something else that isn't linked to the deaths of hundreds or the innocent blood of whoever might be stood next to him at the time, but that's only occasionally. It's done rarely enough that each time it happens, Technoblade makes sure to actually pause and acknowledge them. 

_"What is it this time?"_ He'll whisper, dark eyes narrowed and his calloused, knowing hands twitching at his sides – ready for war. 

They'll be quiet for just a moment, as if they get a sick pleasure out of his anticipation and only somewhat hidden worry, before erupting into loud fits of words surrounding the pressing issue at hand at the time. It varies. _"Squid kid!" "Potatoes!" "Workers!" "Phil!" "Message!"_

They're loud and annoying, but sometimes, and only sometimes, Technoblade's chat can be helpful. 

When the tired warrior awakes one morning, expecting the usual flood of voices to rush in, only to be hit by an eerie, daunting silence and the blinking of a dusty communicator, he knows immediately that something is wrong. Something is definitely wrong. 

As he sits up, all furrowed brows and downturned lips, and the voices simply whisper, 

_"Tommy."_

Technoblade knows what he has to do. 

He runs. 

.

* * *

. 

Tommy hadn't been ready for Wilbur's descent into madness. Hadn't been ready for Wilbur's pull to insanity. Hadn't been ready to watch his brother, his friend, his _Soulmate_ lose himself within his own mind and know that there was absolutely nothing Tommy could do about it. 

How was he supposed to stop what couldn't be? 

Perhaps he could have done something earlier, though. Perhaps, he could have done something the moment they'd first joined the Dream SMP together, all excited grins and bright eyes, and a quiet, lone voice in his head had whispered, _" Run, run, run."_ Perhaps, he could have done something the moment that Wilbur had shown up with those damn tickets, and his mind had subconsciously screamed _danger_. 

Tommy had brushed it off. Perhaps he shouldn't have. 

_"Honeys, I'm home!"_

_Wilbur's voice, full of overlapping symphonies that echoed with cooling blues and forest greens, sounded throughout the farmhouse – a home once left messy and run down but had thankfully been returned to its former glory due to hard work and tremendous amounts of effort._

_It had taken a while for the family of five to finally pull the house together again, but they'd done it, and their efforts had really paid off for once._

_Sleepless nights and hours upon hours spent tinkering and chopping down wood for even the smallest of improvements had simply helped the building grow into what it had used to be – a dashing, grand farmhouse with inviting entrances and sweet-scented wafts of air._

_(They were strictly not allowed to talk about it, but Phil had actually cried upon seeing his home up and running again.)_

_"You need to stop saying that whenever you get home, Will. None of us here are your 'honeys.' Literally none of us, mate."_

_Phil's soothing tone of voice drifted from the direction of their open living room, the man in question having settled down next to the fireplace with a book in his lap. It was a rare occasion that he finally had some time to sit down and enjoy the peace. (Or at least, had been able to before Wilbur had arrived home with whatever news.)_

_"Yeah," Techno too chimed in from the kitchen bar, the hybrid perched upon a wooden stool, "Shouldn't you be leaving that nickname for your _girlfriend_?" _

_Wilbur's face scrunched. "I'll do what I want; thanks, dad, and no! She's not my _girlfriend_. Just a friend who's a girl." _

_"Oh, haven't I heard that one before." A monotone voice drawled back, amusement tinging his words._

_"Hey! Screw you, that's not what I was trying to-!"_

_Thudding. Loud bouts of thudding footsteps and squabbling voices completely cut Wilbur off from what he was trying to say – slicing through his starting voice like a hot knife through melting butter. _" Move! I'm going down!" "Nuh-uh! I was here first!" "Move!" "No!" "Dickhead!" "Bitch!"_ _

_Wilbur sighed, turning his head towards the area the voices were coming from._

_Just as he'd expected, it wasn't long before two, gangly, spotty-faced teens came tumbling down the stairs in a mess of long limbs and groaning huffs, their bodies crashing into a misshapen pile – the rest of the family barely being able to discern where one began and the other ended._

_"Wilbur!" They both started and then immediately cut off upon noticing that they'd similarly shouted the exact same thing._

_"Hey, dickhead," Tommy murmured as he gave his brother (and Soulmate) a shove, "I want to talk to him first! Be quiet!"_

_Tubbo just stuck out his tongue, a rather petulant expression on his face, and he seemed just as annoyed as his counterpart. "Who died and made you president? I can talk to him first if I want to!"_

_"Oi!" Tommy looked downright furious at that point and more than ready to give Tubbo another shove for the comment he'd come out with. However, before he could, Phil, being the rather exasperated though patient father he was, felt the need to finally put a stop to it._

_"Boys," He sighed, sitting up from his position by the fire, "What did we say about arguing in the house?"_

__"No arguing inside of the house. That goes for all of you. If you want to scream and shout, do it outside, away from me and my books. And no violence!"_ _

_Tommy outright whined, "But dad! It was Tubbo who started-"_

_"Tommy. I don't care." Phil replied, voice low but still tinged with a teasing familiarity. No matter how annoying his family could be and act as such at times, he still loved them with his whole heart, and he wouldn't trade them for the world._

_The Avian's gaze shifted over towards his second-eldest son. "So. What news did you have to share with us this time?"_

_Wilbur spluttered a little, clearly caught off guard by the sudden approach, "What? How do you know that I have news?"_

_A scoff. "Probably from the excitement sprawled across your face. Jeez, it's like you weren't even trying to hide it," Technoblade's dry drawl came from the kitchen. He hadn't exactly looked up from where he was sharpening his axe, but he was obviously still listening in._

_Unsurprisingly, the musician just seemed even more put off by his twin's contribution. "Shut up, dude. But yeah! I do have news actually, look!"_

_Wilbur went to scrambling in his worn satchel, pushing aside different music sheets and scrunched up wrappers until he came across what he was looking for, "There we go!" The brunette pulled his hand free, and there, clasped between nimble – though unfortunately calloused – fingers, appeared five, separate tickets (or invitations.)_

_"I managed to get us into the Dream SMP!"_

_Silence rang through the house. Tommy's mouth was wide open. Tubbo appeared astonished. Phil was more so curious, and even _Technoblade_ had finally paused his movements to glance upwards. _

_"Holy shit!" Tommy broke the silence with a loud exclamation, "Seriously? You're being 100% serious right now? You're not just fucking with us!?"_

_The blonde teen practically vaulted from his previous position on the floor, darting over to his older brother with an excited, almost puppy-like expression on his face. The Dream SMP was a new server that had opened up – a new realm with regular (though widely known) people, and it was a bitch to get into. You really needed to pull your strings to be let in._

_Dream was a tough man to bargain with; almost everyone knew that._

_"How'd you do it?" Tubbo asked, coming up beside Tommy as Wilbur shook his head in response to the other – equally as curious – teen's prior question. "How'd you get so many tickets, too?"_

_Wilbur grinned, tapping the side of his nose with a teasing grin. "That's for me to know, and you guys to never find out." He admitted before glancing around again. "But isn't this great? We can all go to the server together! Start anew!"_

_Tommy and Tubbo both nodded eagerly in response._

_They were more than ready to get out and explore the world. It'd been a good while since they'd (officially) moved in with Phil and an even longer time since they'd first met each other and were running havoc in the open land. They missed the action, the adventure, the danger._

_Sure, they both absolutely adored living with their found family, but still... Life was bound to get a little drab after a while, right?_

_"About that," Phil closed his book with a wry smile, his expression pinched and just a tad regretful. "I'd love to go, Will, but... there's some stuff I need to get done first before I can even entertain the idea of moving servers."_

_A brief pause._

_"Me too, actually." Technoblade chimed in before Wilbur (or the two younger teens) could start to complain, "I've been invited into this... competition of sorts. Potato farming and all that stuff. I can't lose. Not now."_

_Wilbur looked more than a little disappointed. He looked devastated beyond belief, heartbroken and crestfallen all at once. A tight grin quickly wiped the daunting expression away before anyone could comment on it, however._

_"That's fine," he nodded. "You can always come later on, and I'll still be able to take Tommy and Tubbo with me, right?"_

_So he did._

__

And now they were in a war. Exiled from the country they'd thought had been their own, with Tubbo stuck working for the enemy and Wilbur losing his damn mind over buttons and presidents. Though then again, that last one wasn't a huge surprise; Tommy was close enough to losing his own with how long he'd been stuck underground for. (Not that that was really by choice.) 

Pogtopia wasn't terrible. It wasn't completely horrendous... 

It was just cramped. Dark. Decayed and stuffy – a tight enough ravine that occasionally had Tommy's unfortunate claustrophobia flaring up in the worst way possible, leaving him gasping and clawing at button-covered walls in an attempt to ground himself. 

Life was moving on around them at a steady pace, with people interacting and joining together, making friends, and living their lives. But for the 'traitorous' Tommy and Wilbur, sent out and hunted by Schlatt's order, they were stuck at a standstill. 

Sometimes, during the worst moments of their stalemate, Tommy wondered if he was even real anymore, if he was even living and breathing, and not just a mumbling ghost drifting throughout the world as it moved on without him. Ghostinnit. Phantommy. Dead. Maybe he was dead? 

No. No, no. He couldn't be. Tommy knew that he was real and existing - that much was unfortunately for sure. Wilbur made sure to ground him back to reality when need be, even if his methods were slightly unorthodox and left Tommy with an aching throat and sobbing mind. 

God... 

_"You're the traitor! It's you! You're selling me out to Schlatt, aren't you!? I just fucking know it!"_

Tommy could still feel Wilbur's nails digging into the soft, delicate skin of his neck as the older man had squeezed and gripped – unrelenting in his restriction of Tommy's airflow. Trails of blood had dripped around indented marks, dripping over malnourished flesh and soaking into a worn, dirty uniform. 

Tommy could still feel the tears welling in his eyes as Wilbur had continued to scream and rant, going on and on about how horrible and sickening the blonde teen was - about how he was everything that Wilbur had ever despised. 

Tommy could still feel as his Soulmate mark had shifted and burned, tingling in varying degrees of pain with each word Wilbur deemed good enough to spit at him. It had never truly faded out – the blonde teen clinging onto hope for his older brother and his rare moments of kindness, but it had still hurt all the same. 

_"You disgust me! You don't deserve to wear that uniform. You don't deserve anything!"_

(Memories. Memories of Wilbur's downfall, memories of Wilbur's insanity. Memories that Tommy didn't want to remember ever again.) 

The young teen did his best to push away at the thoughts and echoes threatening to overload his sensitive mind, shoving and shoving as he stumbled his way up the stairs leading away from the constricted space of Pogtopia. 

He needed to leave them within that daunting cave, at least for the time being while he was on a rather determined mission. Tommy had other things he needed to focus his energy on, after all. 

Pretty important things, too. 

Just moments earlier, during a short period where Wilbur was... he was acting like the old Wilbur again. The old Wilbur who would ruffle Tommy's hair with an excited grin, press gentle kisses to his forehead and shower him with praise – the old Wilbur who was happy with his life and not completely losing it. 

Tommy had taken the opportunity to send a short, unsurprisingly misspelled message to their older brother and Wilbur's twin, Technoblade. It had been vague and desperate, mentioning things that even Tommy couldn't correctly decipher, but hopefully, Techno understood at least a little. 

Hopefully, Techno would use the ticket that Tommy was _certain_ he still clung onto. 

"Please be there," The teen murmured (mainly to himself), staring down at his communicator as he stumbled past oak trees and birch logs, tripped over stray branches and uneven indents within the mossy ground. 

Tommy tried to keep his focus on the path ahead, but it was hard as his eyes kept glancing down to the glistening communicator. Had Techno seen it? Had he realised what was happening? Was he going to come? Was he going to come and save Tommy? 

Sure, Technoblade and Tommy hadn't been... close. They were brothers through and through, but their relationship had always been a little strained and rocky – mainly due to the fact that they had never developed proper Soulmarks for each other. Not even by the time that Tubbo, Tommy, and Wilbur had left for the Dream SMP. 

It had always rested heavily on their shoulders (arguably mainly Tommy's, as he actually cared most about it). Still, surely, they weren't yet distant enough that Technoblade would ignore his pleas and calls for help. If not for Tommy, then certainly for Wilbur, right? 

Wilbur, who was Technoblade's actual twin, and shared a stark Soulmark with the piglin hybrid. 

Surely... 

_"Tommy!?”_

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Tommy was consumed by the irrational fear that Wilbur had found him. That he'd hunted him down and was going to drag him back into the depths of Pogtopia before Tommy even had the chance to meet with their older sibling. 

_"Tommy!"_

There it was again. 

But it wasn't Wilbur. It couldn't be. 

The drawl was far too grey, far too monotone, and far too deep for it to even slightly resemble Wilbur's considerably smoother tone of voice. It was far less Wilbur and much more- 

"Technoblade!" 

Tommy didn't think twice before barreling towards his older sibling, tears already springing in his eyes and his arms looped around the hybrid's neck. Choppy, uneven breaths were spilling from cracked lips in hiccupping waves, but Tommy couldn't bring himself to care. Right now, he just needed to be comforted in the older boy's arms. 

"Technoblade," He repeated around a weak sob, tucking his wet, snotty face further under his brother's chin, a sense of relief spreading through him as Techno's strong arms wound around his thin body. 

"Tommy," The pink-haired man replied back after a few bouts of continuous silence, his voice a hedge more strained than before as if it was physically paining him to speak. (Little did Tommy know, Technoblade was more just in shock from the malnourished, deprived body that the blonde now wore.) 

Slender fingers lifted upwards to card through tumbling locks of dulled-yellow hair, pushing through grease and grime to rub at a sore scalp. Techno let out a harsh breath. 

The state that his little brother was in was quite frankly appalling. It was shocking to see Tommy so thin and starved, to see the deep bags under his muted eyes and the way his frail body shook with even the slightest, tiniest snap of branches deep within the forest. 

He appeared nothing like the Tommy that Technoblade had waved goodbye to just months prior. 

Murmurs of trauma raced through the hybrid's mind, whispers and telling of dark times and even trickier situations. 

_"Help him." "Brother." "Tommy." "Help him."_

For once, the voices in Techno's head – his usually excited, homicidal chat - had come up with a few suggestions that would actually benefit him, and his sibling, in a good way. For once, Technoblade felt as if he could listen to them without being left feeling guilty and unresolved. 

"I've got you now, Tommy. You're going to be okay. We're going to be okay." 

There was promise in Techno's voice, something that Tommy found himself latching onto with desperate claws and digging his heels right into the ground as never to let it go. 

Technoblade didn't sound like the vicious warrior. He didn't sound like the raging anarchist, nor did he sound like the blood-thirsty murderer. He sounded like Technoblade, Tommy's older brother - the grumpy teen with long, pink braids and a love for reading in front of a raging fireplace. 

He was the Technoblade that Tommy had left behind and similarly the one that he was more than happy to have back. 

"Thank you." The blonde murmured into an armoured chest, his cheek smushed, and his face flushed red. 

Technoblade didn't respond verbally, but the gentle squeeze he offered up in physical return was more than enough for Tommy. He didn't need any more than that. He didn't. 

(Neither mentioned the burning, insistent heat that had intertwined between them as they began the daunting walk back to Pogtopia, but they were both very aware. The pig and the raccoon - how could they ignore the marks?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to imagine that Technoblade and Tommy didn’t really have a proper connection until something serious happened, like this situation. Sure, they could have had their Soulmark’s come in during something a little mundane, but I wanted to progress further + felt as if a more extreme situation would be needed. :)

**Author's Note:**

> CC: [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/rabiddogs)  
> Twitter: [Wilbburs](https://twitter.com/wilbburs)


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